


Good Morning, Angel

by TechieHux



Series: The Sunlight Hour [1]
Category: Dredd (2012), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe, Developing Relationship, Fluff, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mental Institutions, Nurse/Patient, Nurses, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-16 05:05:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13629201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TechieHux/pseuds/TechieHux
Summary: "Matt was not a religious or artistic man by any stretch of the imagination, but an ex-boyfriend had taken him to an art gallery once. At the very front of the museum had been a huge painting of an angel that took up nearly the entire wall. He’d stared up at it, awestruck, much in the same way he was staring at Huxley right now."Techie is a permanent patient at a hospital and Matt is the new nurse there. (Cue Matt falling for him without even realizing it within the first ten minutes.)





	Good Morning, Angel

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jathis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jathis/gifts).



> Enjoy!

Matt, the most impulsive man on Earth, finally settled on a career. The drive to work as a psychiatric nurse lasted a good six years, enough to get him through school and then drop him off ass-first into a job with the local hospital. Shortly after, he realized he'd fucked up. Should have gone into IT instead. 

But it was too late for regrets now, as the previous dedicated nurse in the psych ward was handing him the torch and about to shoot off into retirement. Matt stood dumbstruck with his ID around his neck in scrubs that were a little too tight, a thick medical file in his hand. Damn, that nurse sure was in a rush to leave. 

Opening the file and flicking through it knocked Matt out of his stupor, and most of her instructions came flooding back.  
“You’ll only have one patient, but don’t think for a minute this’ll be easy. Huxley is a permanent patient, often bed-bound and restrained. Your job is to care for him around the clock: make sure he gets his meds, give him his sunlight hour, you know. The whole kit and caboodle.”

Matt remembers wrinkling his nose at that part. Who says “kit and caboodle” anymore?

Huxley’s file is thick, dog-eared at the edges and covered in miscellaneous pen marks. Half of the sticker with his full name, William Huxley, is peeling off so it just says “iam Hux” because the “ley” part got ripped off. Matt should probably fix that.

Along with his official list of mental illnesses, medical history, and incident reports, there’s a short schedule on a single sheet of paper. There is literally nothing interesting on it besides an hour of walking in the small gated garden on the ground floor, that, honestly? Leaves a lot to be desired. 

Matt feels a sudden pang of sympathy. If Huxley wasn’t already severely depressed and bored out of his mind, staying here did the trick. He takes the doorknob and turns it slowly, nervous. What was this poor guy like?

He froze in the doorway with his mouth agape like a moron. Whatever he’d expected to find, it wasn't this: a man about his age with a halo of red hair framing his bright blue eyes and bow-shaped lips, who stared up at him from beneath lowered lashes and moved to sit up on the cot. 

Matt was not a religious or artistic man by any stretch of the imagination, but an ex-boyfriend had taken him to an art gallery once. At the very front of the museum had been a huge painting of an angel that took up nearly the entire wall. He’d stared up at it, awestruck, much in the same way he was staring at Huxley right now. His knees went weak and he swung around to shut the door behind him, but his arms felt limp like noodles and Matt knocked over a plastic vase of red amaryllis without even noticing until the water was seeping into his crocs.

“Shit!”

There was a box of tissues next to the door and he used them to dab at the carpet, brows furrowed hard while he held the box so tight it caved in under his white-knuckled grip. Double shit.

Huxley, who had gone so still, flinched and dropped back down, dragging the covers over his head. 

“Sorry! God, I’m so sorry.” Matt groaned, dropping the wet tissues into a small garbage can by the foot of the bed. Huxley peeked out from under the covers. “I make a horrible first impression, huh? First, I stare like a creep and then I knock over your flowers… they’re, uh. Pretty. By the way.”

Now that the spell had been broken and he’d inched closer to his new charge, Matt noticed all the details his four-year old glasses had missed: the ‘halo’ was greasy with split ends, one of his sapphire eyes was a prosthetic, and he was covered in thin scars at the wrists, where he’d presumably slashed himself to bits. Something about him still echoes that painting with the beautiful gold frame.  
“Th-thank you,” he mumbles, eyes wide. The way he’s shaking under the blankets makes it abundantly clear that Matt scares the shit out of this guy. 

Suddenly, he realizes how he must look to his patient: over-large, intimidating, with curly hair messily dyed a butter-popcorn yellow and thick, clunky glasses that made him seem years older. Matt thought he looked like the Zodiac Killer sketch some mornings, when he squinted at the bathroom mirror without his glasses and despaired about the future. 

“Uh, hi. My name's Matt. I'm a nurse.” Within seconds he’s amending, “Your nurse. The new one.”

Huxley glanced down at his ID (with Matt’s last initial covered by duct tape- he’d done that this morning) and finally took the blanket away from his face. Matt smiled a little, probably a grimace, and held his hand out to shake. 

“I l-like to be called Techie,” he whispered, voice wracked with tremors and an uncomfortable amount of anxiety. Slowly, ever so slooowly, he extended his hand to Matt’s, as though he’d never done a handshake in his life. Maybe he hadn’t.

Matt’s brows furrow. “Techie?” He thinks better of questioning it and continues, “I like it. Sounds cool.” 

This earns him the first real smile of their first day together, a soft, lopsided little thing. A milestone! Before he can maintain an air of professionalism, a matching grin blooms on Matt’s own face. But you know what? Fuck it. That’s never been Matt’s style. He’ll do his job and do it well, with a few bonuses thrown in so “Techie” doesn’t go any crazier than this hospital thinks he is.

“Wh-What about Anderson?” Techie asks, pulling the blanket away. He’s tall and skinny, all sharp edges with jutting bones. Matt’s stomach turns with unease. When was his breakfast time again? He was getting this itchy feeling all over and was certain that if Techie didn’t get some food in him and soon, Matt wouldn’t sleep tonight from worry. There was something about this man that made his seldom-used protective instincts flare up. Like some kind of mother hen.

Matt takes a seat on the armchair across from his narrow bed and wracks his head for an answer. Anderson? Wasn’t that… Oh, damn! The previous nurse. She’d been erased from his mind the moment her back turned a corner and disappeared. “She’s retiring,” he confesses. “Don’t think she’ll be coming back anytime soon.”

Techie looks relieved. “She was n-nice enough, I guess, but the sounds of Candy Cr-Crush at all hours were getting on my n-nerves.” Matt’s heartfelt guffaw brings a sorely needed lightness to the air. It pulls another, more tentative, smile from the red-head.

This arrangement will be good for the both of them. By any means necessary, he’ll get Techie to smile again.  


And again.  


And again.  


Matt swears it.


End file.
